Turning Japanese

The prickling in the knees, the heavy heart, hard to breathe. Each step brings me closer to unlocking a door that was closed on me for years. Seven years to be exact.
If you have ever visited your old school, you would understand the feeling. However when your school is in Japan, the feeling is much different. The sights, sounds and smells of the unchanged confirm the flashes in your mind that your memories have upheld for years until this moment.
I greet my old principal in the entrance, he has been awaiting my return. He looks at me with the same comical smile and, greets me with a friendly laugh.
I was one of the first foreign students who began school as a student. For me, it was all about becoming the poster boy for what it meant to grow, learn, and adapt as an English boy in a Japanese environment.
I'm being led on a tour around the hallways and classrooms where I started, to where I finished.
Children less than half the size of me scurry past my legs; curious, shy. Most don't believe that a foreigner like me could have been like one of them. Teachers that haven't met me before shake my hand with welcome, an acceptance and respect in their gaze and smiles.
The moment of truth arrives. I'm standing at the door in my mind, hand on handle, key in hand. I am about to be reunited with my teacher.
I walk through the door, and there she is. Unlike me, age hadn't affected her, and I recognize the familiar face immediately. The lunch bell is about to ring; the kids are restless, eager to open their lunchboxes. She looks me in the eye, but does not take notice. I have to be introduced in order to be recognized. The tears form in her eyes slightly, and I wear my cheesiest grin uncontrollably. A precious moment from my dreams has been completed. The children soon take notice, and crowd around us. My teacher explains, and soon their excitement overwhelms the moment as they clamber around my legs and hang off my outstretched arms. Everyone is having a laugh, photo's are being taken.
I leave my teacher with a hug, and she wishes me luck in my further journeys. After formal goodbyes I am heading back out towards the gate. The children are waving me off, watching, waiting. Perhaps like my teacher they await the return again. Perhaps they wait for me to return to continue my legacy and pass on my knowledge to more children like myself.

I turn my head and take in the view again for the last time. My heart has lifted, like my smile. I was and am, the Prodigal Son.